Follies
by Lemon Zinger
Summary: I was firmly convinced Watson might never recover from this, and was fighting to keep some life in him. Which is why my eyes were firmly fixed on him. Why I was able to note his collapse and catch him before anyone else had realized what was happening. I held him firmly in my arms as he sobbed long and hard.
1. Chapter 1

**Follies**

_We all are full of weakness and errors; let us mutually pardon each other our follies_

_-Voltaire_

* * *

I knew I shouldn't be surprised. I was with Watson as he struggled through some of the toughest times in his life – times the self-righteous detective was dead, and now that he had returned Watson had gone back to being his friend without another thought.

How could Watson stand to trust him? It was simply too much for me to understand. Holmes had left Watson to think him dead and was not even here for Watson when Mary died.

Yet, there they were.

I was standing on Baker Street, looking up at the bright window where I knew Holmes and Watson were. Only yesterday, I had been one of the few friends Watson had left. Now, he had forgotten our lunch plans. I supposed I couldn't blame him for forgetting. We had intended to discuss notes on the case and try to come up with a plausible solution, but there was no need now.

Plus Watson had just had the shock of his life.

I had heard all about Holmes' dramatic reappearance in Watson's consulting room. It was all Watson had talked about the night I helped Holmes capture Moran. I had looked over Watson's shoulder at Holmes, sending him what I hoped was a warning look.

_Hurt Watson again, and I'll find some reason to stick you in a cell for some time._

Watson never deserved any of the pain and trouble Holmes had caused. From injuries or illnesses contracted on cases to the grief Watson had gone through when he thought Holmes was dead. It was unfair.

_- Flashback -  
_

_I met him at the station, along with Mary, shocked about how pale and sick he looked. He smiled in greeting, but he was clearly sad. _

_I could hardly believe the news when Watson had written back to let us know. He was back within three days of his letter and I offered my sincerest apologies. _

_"It wasn't your fault Lestrade." He said. _

_I didn't believe him. I watched as Watson wept openly at the funeral, looking thin and tired. The poor man was overwhelmed with grief because I had failed to catch Moriarty. _

_Watson got pneumonia as a result of the cold drizzle at the funeral. He was ill for two weeks, Mary keeping watching over him all the while. I went to visit him when he was feeling better and found he was still deeply depressed over the loss of his closest friend. _

_There was little I could do save to support him. Little I could say that would help him. _

_- End Flashback - _

But I was a respectable man who wouldn't give in to the temptation to punch my friend's best friend.

Suddenly, the blind was drawn back and I saw the familiar face of Watson looking out, I turned around quickly, hoping I hadn't been spotted. I started walking away, trying to get to the corner where I could turn and be out-of-sight.

"Lestrade?" I heard his voice call me.

I stopped, but didn't turn.

"Lestrade?" Watson called again, this time a cough followed his words. I quickly went to him, unable to hold a grudge against the man.

"What is it Watson?" I asked, getting close to him. He had come a little ways from the house and I steered him back towards it, towards his old rooms and the detective that I caught a glimpse of in the upstairs window.

"Lestrade, I forgot. I'm so sorry." Watson said.

"No, it's not your fault." I hastened to reassure him. "You've had a lot on your mind."

"I want to make it up to you. Have you had dinner yet?" Watson asked.

"Well, no, but-"

"Join us!" Watson said. I hadn't heard him be so enthused in a long time and as I looked at the eager expression on his face, I found I could refuse him, regardless that I did not want to eat with Holmes.

I agreed with as much alacrity as I could muster, and he hurried in to call to Mrs. Hudson that they would need an extra plate.

The poor landlady had also been frightened out of her wits, now she was already resuming her role as the Great Accommodator who could make last-minute changes to suit her lodger's whim.

Now there was only one lodger. Watson still lived at Kensington. I smiled at the realization. I would eventually get Watson to myself, even if I had to wait at his very doorstep.

Which was far easier than feigning some sort of ailment.

Watson led me up to the sitting room. Holmes was back in his usual seat smoking on his pipe. He smiled and gave me a little nod as he entered.

I wanted to slap the contented look right off of his face. I had respected him, admired him, just before he had died. I had wrestled with the guilt of letting Moriarty slipping through the net. Watson hadn't been the only one grieving Holmes' death, but he had a far easier time of forgiving the detective.

"Lestrade and I made lunch plans that I forgot about. He's joining us for dinner instead." Watson explained.

Holmes looked slightly caught off-guard, but just nodded.

It was his home, I suddenly remembered. Was Holmes bothered Watson had invited me without consulting the detective?

"I don't have to stay if you don't want me to." I told Holmes. A part of me wanted him to tell me I could leave, but Watson was looking shocked, and I felt guilty for pointing out his mistake.

"No, that's perfectly fine. I never got a chance to thank you for your quick service last night." Holmes said.

"It was no trouble." I said. It wasn't really – _he_ was the problem.

"Well, another case concluded." Watson said. The words reminded me of another case concluded, but the ending had been terrible.

_-Flashback-_

_Watson stood, weeping opening in front of the coffin that was being lowered slowly into the ground. The thump it made as it settled into the hole echoed and brought on a fresh wave of tears. _

_The minister was saying something, I think it might have had to do with how God would bring us peace, but I wasn't paying any attention to that. I was firmly convinced Watson might never recover from this, and was fighting to keep some life in him. _

_Which is why my eyes were firmly fixed on him. Why I was able to note his collapse and catch him before anyone else had realized what was happening. I held him firmly in my arms as he sobbed long and hard. Gregson and I stayed behind with him long after everyone else had gone. When he was finally able to stand, we had to support him most of the way.  
_

_I wouldn't leave him alone for a long time after that. Through some arrangements and the kind donations of the elder Mr. Holmes I kept a doctor or friend by Watson through the next three months. Then we slowly began to see him recovering and I approached him about the idea of teaming up with me on some cases. _

_The activity helped him immensely. He still went through spells, but he began to get back to a normal routine at least. And now Holmes' sudden return from the dead, how convenient now that I got him through the worst. _

_-End Flashback-_

Dinner consisted, as I expected, of reminiscing (mostly on the part of Holmes and Watson), while I sat there, nibbling at my food, and occasionally lending a comment or two when Watson tried to include me. I knew he was doing his best to juggle the two of us, since we had hardly said a word to one another.

I wondered if he was mad at me. Was he jealous of my friendship with Watson? Was he beginning to regret his disappearance?

Holmes was regarding me with a cool look and I finally set down my fork. "Go on, say what is on your mind." I ordered.

Watson hadn't known us long, but he knew when a fight was brewing. "Another roll perhaps Lestrade?" He offered me one.

I politely turned it down and set my eyes on Holmes. He seemed as keen as I to finally the matter out. "Well, however did he escape?" Holmes asked

I glared. "I'm lucky we caught all but two Holmes. I told you straight on that I didn't believe we had the manpower to do it.

"And yet you insisted that I could not be bait." Holmes replied. "That ruse would've worked."

"I could no more risk your life than I could my own!" I cried bitterly, rising.

Watson rose as well. "Gentlemen – "

But we weren't gentlemen anymore. We were tigers snarling and snapping at one another, hackles spiked for a fight. "You certainly cannot tell me you were really that sorry to be rid of me – your greatest opponent when it comes to your cases." Holmes hissed.

"Holmes – " Watson was again cut off.

"I couldn't risk you because of him!" I pointed at Watson. "Not that it mattered because what I feared came to pass anyway – but it was all a ruse now wasn't it? You played some cruel twisted joke while the rest of us had to watch people who loved you grieving deeply for you! You weren't with him when he sat grieving for the loss of his closest friend! You weren't there to support him when he nearly collapsed at his wife's funeral!" I snapped.

Holmes had gone deathly pale at this tirade and I was even surprised at myself. Watson was regarding us with a mixture of astonishment and concern. "Lestrade…."

I looked at him sorrowfully. "I would never have wished you anymore grief then what you already have had to bear. You've had more than your share."

Holmes was quiet, not meeting our eyes. Watson just turned and left. I couldn't help but worry about his wellbeing. It was almost an automated reaction whenever I noticed he was down in spirits.

I just looked at Holmes. "Going after him?"

"Aren't you? I thought that I made pretty poor company." He growled.

"But you're the one he loves like a brother." I replied, turning to leave. "Even if I never understand it, you're the one he wanted all this time."

Holmes sighed. "I never wanted to hurt him."

I swallowed, trying to force down my anger for the sake of our mutual friend. "I know… neither did I."

With that I turned to leave, but Holmes bolted passed me on his way to catch up with Watson. I let them go, just wishing I could somehow erase the past, wishing I could undo my mistake.

Because even though Holmes had chosen to stay away, I had been the reason Moriarty had found him in the first place. Alone with my guilt and hoping they could forgive me, I walked silently home, hoping for the best for both of them.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

_Friendship is but another name for an alliance with the follies and the misfortunes of others. Our own share of miseries is sufficient: why enter then as volunteers into those of another?_

_- Thomas Jefferson_

* * *

I followed Watson upstairs. Though he had not officially moved back in, we had been planning to have him return within a fortnight. It was an affair I had been looking forward to.

Now when I entered the room to find him sitting on the edge of the bed staring with a blank expression at the wall. I was not so sure his feelings were the same.

"Lestrade certainly seemed upset tonight." I commented, trying to open up a conversation. It was hard to know what was running through his mind as his eyes stared fixedly at the spot where the wall by his closet met the floor. He was quiet for a long time, and I wondered if he had heard me at all. "I didn't think you two had grown so close."

"He was there when I needed him most." The voice was flinty and the eyes that looked up at me were hard as ice.

I swallowed nervously. "Watson my dear fellow…"

"Why?" Watson looked up at me, his eyes brimming with tears. "You stayed away all those years… left me to despair…"

"Watson I never wanted you to suffer! I never dreamed you would take this so hard. I never thought Mary would die. I only just learned of it on my way home." Holmes said.

"And Lestrade was here! Lestrade was looking after me when she died!" Wason bellowed. I swallowed my pride for a moment and tried to see things through his eyes. From his view, I had abandoned him. I had left him with few friends and in time, a dead wife.

"I'm sorry I couldn't be here, my dear – "

"Don't." Watson said, choking on a sob.

"Watson what happened?" I asked finally. "What happened to Mary?"

He touched his temple with his fingertips and shuddered a little bit, as if the memory was going to overwhelm him. I didn't know if I had made an error in even asking, or asking so late. I should've been here, in any case.

"Holmes I…"

"If it's too much right now I understand." I murmured.

"No, you should know what happened here while you were away." Watson whispered, seeming to finally summon up the strength to look at me again, though his eyes glistened with tears.

I didn't say a word, worried that if I did he might change his mind or I might say the wrong thing. I had already made so many mistakes I feared to make another. I thought of Lestrade's final words and wondered myself why Watson could possibly prefer my company. After all, I was the one that hurt him so deeply with my disappearance.

"It was last winter." Watson said softly. "1893. It was bitterly cold outside."

It was as if those strong winter winds were blowing through our own apartment as I began to picture what he told me.

"Mary and I were sharing a quiet evening by the fire in early December. It wasn't anything spectacular, but we hadn't seen much of one another with all the work I was getting." Watson smiled, caught up in the memories.

And suddenly, it was as if I was there with him, inside those memories, watching as his tale unfolded.

* * *

Flashback

"Oh John you shouldn't have!" Mary smiled as she opened the box John had handed her. Inside was a silver bracelet with a red heart made out of a ruby.

John smiled from the chair where he sat sipping some brandy to warm up. He had only gotten home an hour ago, and he was still a bit chilled even though the fire was well built up.

"What is the occasion?" Mary asked him, still surprised. "Christmas isn't for two weeks!"

"Does a man need an occasion to dote on his wife?" John asked, rising and coming over to kiss her. His hand rested on her stomach for a moment as he leaned over to give her a tender kiss. "And I couldn't wait. I wanted you to wear it with that dress for the party."

Mary put a hand on his cheek. "It's fine." She assured him.

John grinned. "I'm so happy." He rubbed her nose with his in a silly gesture of affection.

"As am I." She said. "Happy that you are happy. I've been so worried about you."

John smiled. "I'm well dearest."

"I know. You just have seemed… well, melancholy as of late. I worried this weather might get to you." Mary admitted.

John knew what she was referring to. The death of his closest friend had come as a terrible blow. He wasn't entirely over it either, if he was honest with himself, but he was beginning to find new happiness in his life. "Its alright sweetie, I'm wearing that scarf you got me, and I have the memory of your hugs to keep me warm on the way." He assured her.

Mary blushed. "You are the love of my life John, you must forgive me if I worry about you."

"I do, just don't worry overmuch. I fear for your health as well." John advised her.

Mary nodded. "Yes John."

"Have you thought of names yet?" He asked, leaving her side to fetch some more brandy.

Mary put a hand over her womb and laughed a little. "I can't know the gender yet, but there are a few I'm partial to." She admitted.

John took a seat on the settee and she rose to join him from her chair. "Such as?" He asked as she rested against him, looking into the fire.

"What about Clara or Mabel?" Mary asked.

John hummed in agreement. "They are beautiful names. What about if it is a boy?"

Mary smiled. "I like Vincent. And Sherlock." She said, a bit nervous about what John would say.

"Sherlock?" John echoed. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. I like it."

John smiled. "He just better not be all too much like his namesake."

Mary grinned back at him. "Well, he would be your son." She reminded him.

John took another sip of his brandy. "I met you during one of those cases remember." He pointed out.

Mary laughed. "Indeed, but I was a poor girl in distress."

John gave her a look. "Oh, indeed." He said with a smirk.

"What?" Mary caught his sarcastic tone. "I was!"

"'Poor girl' that inherited six pearls in as many years?" John asked.

Mary gave him a look. "Now that is really not fair husband." She said, pulling the blanket off the top of the couch to help keep her warm.

John helped her adjust it. "No, probably not love." He replied.

They were quiet for a while as the night wore on. It wasn't a long time before they both slipped into a light slumber, happy and secure in each other's arms.

John's keen instincts had him awake and alert before he knew why. He didn't understand at first. Maybe Mary had moved a little in her sleep or the kitten Mary had taken in had knocked something off the counter.

But he didn't think that was the case. He opened his eyes and his ears strained to listen for whatever had startled him in the first place.

Then he heard it. A small bit of squeaking like something was being pried open.

He assumed it was the kitten, Clover, after something in one of the cabinets in the kitchen. Rising gently and setting Mary up against a pillow, he turned to fetch her.

"John?" Mary murmured, seeming only half awake.

"Go back to sleep, it's just Clover playing with something." He told her, kissing her cheek.

Believing him, she dosed back off. John meanwhile headed through the hallway to the dining room and past the pantry just outside the kitchen. However, it was not Clover that he saw, it was three large gentlemen looking around.

John backed away quietly, trying not to be seen. One of the men struck a match and was looking for a candle, but there wasn't one near to them. He turned around to warn Mary and get her out of the house when he collided with a forth man, who must've come around the staircase on the other side of the kitchen to come behind him.

Before John could do anything, he had taken a blow to the stomach and was doubled over. He felt another blow strike the side of his head just above his ear and he tumbled against the wall, loosing his balance.

"What's going on?" A deep voice asked.

"Found one of 'em!" The man that had attacked John called in a hushed tone.

The other three men came into sight and stood looking down at John. One seemed to be in charge though, and he smiled. "You might as well make this easy. We need a place to hide for a bit while Scotland Yard runs around looking for us. Now, you can live and be a good host, or we can simply kill you or anyone else in this house and take what we want. Clear?" The man asked.

John nodded. What else could he do? It was just Mary and him. They couldn't overpower four men.

"Good." The man said.

One of them had found and lit a candle and he got a better look at their captors. One looked very young, two were middle-aged, and the last one who seemed to be a leader, was gray.

"Search the rest of the house. Wake everyone and make sure they know who's in charge." The burly older man ordered.

"No need, it is just me and my wife. Let me wake her so she doesn't scream." John offered.

The older man thought for a moment before nodding. "Very well, go ahead and wake her. How many bedrooms do you have?"

"Two." John said.

The older man nodded. "Well, you and your wife can stay in one. Two of us will stand guard while the other two sleep. Get moving."

John saw the pistol in the man's hands and knew it was foolish to argue. He rose, a bit dizzy from the blow to the head, and stumbled back to his wife.

Mary still seemed pretty tired, so he just scooped her into his arms. He wasn't entirely sure he could manage it, but he didn't want one of the other men to do it.

"John?" She murmured as they climbed the stairs.

"Just going to bed darling, go back to sleep." John said as two of the men followed him up. He went into his bedroom, leaving them to take the guest room. The other bedroom was the nursery, which he hadn't counted since there wasn't a bed there.

The older man opened it though and looked in. "The baby?" He asked.

"Not here yet." John answered honestly. He hoped they would leave the matter alone.

"Go." The man ordered.

Tenderly laying his wife down, John settled down beside her, trying not to cry and yet wondering what they could possibly do.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

_"But the world as it stands is no narrow illusion, no phantasm, no evil dream of the night; we wake up to it, forever and ever; and we can neither forget it nor deny it nor dispense with it."_

_- Henry James_

* * *

"Now wait half a moment!" I cried, rising, astonished at the tale Watson was relating. "You are saying you were held prisoner in your own home and you didn't try anything? What about a signal light in the window or a message tossed to the street?"

It was only after I had spoken that I realized the terrible way that would sound. As if Watson _hadn't_ tried everything in his power there was to try.

Watson looked at me with profound patience. "Yes I thought about it. Then I thought about what those men might do to Mary in the event they thought I was trying to call for help and I resorted to trying to manage on my own."

I sat ruefully back down, wishing I had thought a little more before I had spoke. "I'm sorry, continue?"

"Of course." Watson said, diving back into the tale with a mixture of sorrow and fear in his voice.

* * *

John opened his eyes, unaware that he'd even fallen asleep at all. He wasn't sure what time it was, but when he looked outside, he realized that overnight the snow had covered most of the street. It looked very deep, and he doubted there would be anyone about for some time.

Mary stirred and sighed. "Don't you have rounds?" She asked, looking over at him from where she lay sprawled out on the bed with one hand behind her head and the other resting on her belly.

"It's too deep." John replied, coming back to the bed and lying down next to her, stroking her cheek.

"What is it? I know that look." She asked, worry creeping into her voice.

"Darling last night we had some visitors…" John started to explain.

"Was that when you got up? I thought I heard something." She asked, narrowing her eyes.

"Yes." John admitted, knowing it would do no good to hide it from her. The truth was sometimes more dangerous when it was hidden. "They are on the run from Scotland Yard and they have taken control of the house."

Mary sat up in alarm and John put a finger to his lips to warn her to be silent.

"How many are there?" She asked as he took one of her trembling hands in his.

"Four. Two sleep while the other two keep watch." John advised her.

Mary looked away and John could tell she was silently crying for fear. He held her in his arms, letting her rest in his lap while he tried to soothe her. "They shouldn't be more than a few days. It'll just be a few days and they will leave. Then things will be back to normal." He said.

Mary shook her head. "What if they hurt one of us? Or what if Lestrade calls, you know he comes often to check on you."

John didn't know what to say to that. "Then I'll make up some excuse. I can't let them harm you." He replied.

Mary clung to him and continued to cry for several minutes. After a while though, she got up and got dressed. "Are we allowed to leave the room?" She asked.

John shrugged. "They didn't say we weren't. I assume they just want to keep an eye on us. Why?"

"Because I'm hungry." Mary said. "And this is my home and I'll eat if I want to." With that, she turned to open the door.

Admiring her for a moment, John rose. "Well, wait, I wouldn't want to miss out on your cooking." He said with a smile.

It worked to calm her down some. They left the room and the two guards gave them cautious looks, but let them go as they pleased. Mary went into the kitchen and began to crack some eggs and put water in the teapot.

"Whatcha cookin?" The youngest member of the gang asked. He had a slow draw to his voice and sounded like he might be a bit deaf. John noted blood on his pant leg and left Mary's side for a few moments to fetch his medical bag from the parlour.

"Eggs." Mary replied. "And what's your name?"

John came back in time to see the boy shyly tuck his head into his shoulder for a moment before rolling it back to its normal half-cocked position. "Ira… Ira Floyd Donaldson." He said.

John put a hand on his shoulder and he jumped. "Easy lad, come have a seat and I'll take a look at that leg for you."

Ira nodded. "It hurt real bad. I told the boss, but he say to shut my trap. He's always telling me that and I ain't even hunted in a real long time. Last time I hunted I scared away all the geese and my dad told me I ain't never gonna be good for nothing."

John began to roll up his pantleg. "What happened to it?"

"I scratched it when we tried to get away last night." Ira replied.

John looked at the nasty gash on Ira's leg and grimaced. It hadn't been looked at at all. If it had, it might be just a minor wound, but the dirt and his clothing had gotten into it and it required a good deal of cleaning, which Ira protested loudly.

"It hurts me!" He whined.

"Its no good doctor, he won't listen to reason." The other guard said, seeming annoyed with the boy.

"Now Ira if you don't get this cleaned you will get an infection and you could loose your whole leg or die. Do you want that?" John asked.

Ira seemed to think for a moment and then shook his head.

"Now, look, I know it hurts, but don't look at it. Watch Mary as she cooks." John said.

With a bit of help from his wife, and a few choice moments where she let Ira sample the meal, John cleaned the wound and bandaged it up for the lad. Ira seemed to be very interested in what Mary was doing, and once he was permitted he got up to watch closely.

"Do you want to stir the porridge?" She asked, handing him the wooden spoon. Ira nodded and she let him hold the spoon while she guided him from behind.

"Look Roy, I is cookin'!" Ira called happily over to his companion.

"Geesh." Roy rolled his eyes. "I better go wake Bert and Eugene." He rose and went towards the stairs.

Ira helped Mary set the table with John's supervision and then he helped to slice the bread. The first meal seemed like it might actually go smoothly. They laid out the food and took their seats as Roy, Bert, and Eugene came to the table.

"What's this?" Eugene, the eldest, asked.

"I helped cook boss. I stirred the porridge and set the table and sliced the bread." Ira said, rolling his head about again.

Eugene gave a mocking reply. "You ain't do no cooking boy, you just helped a little. You can't cook."

"Is that any way to speak to him?" Mary asked, rising in defense of Ira, who looked crestfallen.

"Does it do him any good to get delusions into his foolish head?" Eugene asked, digging into the food with gusto.

"Maybe it does. If he's such a burden why is he with you?" Mary asked.

John watched the exchange silently, but he knew what his wife was doing and was silently nodding his approval.

"He's my nephew. I promised my brother I'd look after him." Eugene said.

"By getting him into trouble with the law?" Mary looked astonished.

Eugene slammed his fist down on the table, making everyone jump. "Keep your mouth shut like a good woman. It ain't none of your business."

John glared. "Her name is Mary. And if you don't want the boy along we will happily keep him here when you leave." He offered.

Eugene seemed to consider it. "So you can just turn him over to the authorities is what you mean."

"No, we would look after him. Find him some decent employment." John said. "Maybe we can find you someplace in a restaurant to work – wouldn't you like that Ira?" He asked the boy.

"Yes – "

"Oh shut your trap." Eugene told him before turning back to Watson. "It does no good to ask him see cause he ain't got no brain to be understanding what all it means."

John looked at Eugene. "But if he's out of your hands what difference does it make?"

"It makes a difference what he'd say to the authorities you understand?" Eugene said.

"Why would he speak to them?" John asked. "After all, if he doesn't have a brain – "

"He ain't staying and that's that." Eugene replied, taking another bite.

John backed down for now, knowing that it would do no good at the present to argue. Later he intended to readdress the issue with Eugene privately.

Ira meanwhile was looking down at his plate and not eating much. Mary put another helping of porridge on his plate. "Come Ira, eat up, you'll need your energy to help me with lunch." She coaxed.

Brightening at the suggestion, the boy started the meal with new energy. Mary sent a defiant glance down to Eugene and then continued to eat her own meal. Eugene just grunted and kept eating.

John meanwhile, was trying desperately to figure out some sort of plan to free his home of the criminals without harming Ira.

* * *

A/N: Ira is my own little creation. He's the only one in here I really want credit for reuse, but he is... mentally challenged. Cottontop from Hatfields & McCoys & Lennie from Mice and Men are good examples of what he's like.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Carry out a random act of kindness, with no expectation of reward, safe in the knowledge that one day someone might do the same for you.

-Princess Diana

* * *

John had studied their habits for a day now, but he found neither weakness nor any moment when he stood a chance of trying to get help. It was a strange thing for him to feel so helpless. Usually the one with the answers, he felt angry with the situation and with himself.

"If Holmes was here..." That phrase echoed in his brain until it hurt. He knew if his dear frind was still alive he would be able to do more. Maybe it was cruel, but he almost began to hate Holmes for dying. He wanted him alive and here to help.

His wrath wasn't doing anyone any good though. It was making him tense, which made everyone else tense too. Mary tried to soothe him a bit, even allowing him extra desserts for lunch. He liked that. Ira had again helped with it and the fair they had spread was splendid. Normally it was just the two of them, but Mary seemed genuinely to enjoy cooking for more. John planned to let her have a party for her friends soon. He would even take the day off to serve her and her guests. Once this was over.

And soon they would have a family to look after too. John was still not sure which gender he wanted more. A son to take fishing and teach a bit of boxing to or a girl he could dote upon like the princess. He smiled at Mary frequently and it kept his spirits up a bit to see her smiling back.

"We're going to run out of food at this rate." Mary said, dabbling at her lips with a napkin.  
Eugene gave her a stern glare. "Some plot to get out of the house missy?" He hissed.

It was, and it was a brilliant plot. Splendidly brilliant.

"I'll go. Roy can come with me as a friend if anyone asks." John said. He hadn't done a lot of shopping, but Mary wasn't going out in that weather. While he loathed to leave her alone, he had a feeling Ira was becoming protective of her. He had used the term 'mom' when addressing her several times. It was sweet really, how attached the poor boy had become. Eugene had already told Ira his mom was dead several dozen times, but that didn't stall him. Mary had been adopted.

"Alright, but step outran line and she," he jabbed his fork at Mary, "will take the punishment."  
John nodded as he chewed another forkful of food. He wouldn't risk her and the child – and they knew that.

After lunch John pulled Mary into a hug. "Stay on the chair and knit." He ordered.

She gave him a curious look, but fetched her knitting as ordered. John hoped the long needles would deter anyone from approaching her with any evil intent, but he didn't know how far she could go to protect herself.

For her sake he would be quick.

Gathering his coat and scarf he bundled up and after Mary had adjusted him a little and planted a kiss on his nose he stepped out into the cold.

The snow hadn't melted much. It was still halfway up their legs and a bit challenging to walk through. John just walked silently, but to his surprise Roy struck up a conversation. "Sure hope the boss lets you keep Ira." He said, panting a little. John had found him a spare coat, but he was nowhere as warm as John.

"Why?" John asked, a bit surprised.

"Cause I'm the one that always has to be babysitting 'em." Roy replied with a grunt.

John looked at him. "We'd take him in happily."

Roy gave a short laugh. "He's like raising a ten year-old that never grows up. He won't amount to chicken scratch!"

"I think you all could amount to something." John answered.

Roy spat into the snow. "I've been living this life too long to go back. And Eugene? I've watched him shoot a girl maybe six years old in the face cause her daddy got smart."

John shuddered. The coldness in the tone chilled him more than the snow.

"He wont kill you if he don't have too. Harder to avoid a murderer charge than a theft." Roy said knowingly.

"But its not helping you to have Ira along." John pointed out. "He is only going to make things more difficult."

Roy cast a sidelong glance at the doctor. "Didn't reckon you'd care much about our problems."

"Well then you misjudge me. I wish I could help you all." John replied.

They walked in silence for a while, each lost in their own thoughts. John turned into a shop and began to peruse the shelves for foods he knew Mary liked or something fun for Ira to help prepare. He selected a few things to keep Mary's baking supply stocked and a few special treats for them all. By the counter was a small jar filled with candies. Grabbing a rather large handful he added them to the pile. There were twelve, two each. As they began to leave, he passed two to Roy, whose eyes lit up at the small sweet. "Really? For me?"

John nodded. Roy put one in his mouth and savored it with a satisfied hum. "Why are you so kind?" He asked John after a moment. "We stole into your house, threatened to hurt you and your wife... I even hit you there last night." Roy asked, genuinely curious.

John smiled. "A bit of kindness costs me nothing, but it gives me a good deal."

Roy furrowed his brow, not understanding. John went on to explain. "Being nice to someone often makes things smoother in the long run. It is not as though I agree with your choices, but I've met a good many criminals in my time. I've met a lot of men who don't like their lot in life and who are forced to do things they don't want to do. I figure we're all stuck with some part of our life that makes us miserable, might as well share the joy and not the misery. Like my injuries from the war still bother me, but I rejoice in healing others."

Roy watched John for a long time, noticing his uneven gait. Without a word he relieved John of most of the load he was bearing.

John smiled at him. "See, you know that helped me and you did it without me my asking. Your a good man Roy. Better than the life that has befallen you gives you credit for."

Roy blushed. "But if I try to leave the law will attack me and Eugene will come after whatever they leave."

John shook his head. "You can turn yourself in, serve a light sentence and then take your freedom. Eugene, if he is as bad as you say, will likely not live through his sentencing." John said.

"I still go to prison." Roy said grimly. "And in don't want to."

"I can agree that it seems a terrible option, but how do you know you wont go to prison anyway?" John asked.

Roy looked startled, like he hadn't considered or wanted to consider that prospect.  
"I just gotta find a good time to sneak away. Jump a ship to America or something." Roy decided.

John knew further talking would do little good. They were nearly home when there was a shout. "Doctor!"

John turned around to see Lestrade heading their way. "I was just on my way to see you and the Missus." Lestrade explained, seeming out of breath as he panted great puffs of white into the air.

"We're doing fine, thank you Lestrade." John knew courtesy almost required him to invite the inspector in for a cup of tea, but what could he do? Roy shifted nervously and Lestrade gave him a smile.

"Thanks for helping him, you a friend of his?"

"An old rugby pal of mine." John explained quickly. "He caught me on the way and offered a hand. Roy this is Lestrade."

Roy shifted the packages and held out a hand to Lestrade who shook it with a smile. "Well Roy, thank you for that. I tell him to take it easy, but you know he can be stubborn." Lestrade teased.

Roy nodded and played along. "Always was." He agreed.

John was glad this seemed to be going well. "Thanks for coming though Lestrade. You want to step in for a bit to warm up?"

Roy seemed shocked, but Lestrade fortunately shook his head. "No, I have to be off to the office again." He replied. "But it was good to see you."

They shook hands and John immediately felt like a fool. If only he had some piece of paper or something else that he could sneak Lestrade to tell him of their plight! If he hadn't been in such a hurry he might've thought of it! He felt like a fool as he was forced to let Lestrade leave, none the wiser to the situation, and meanwhile he had to turn to go back into the house full of criminals. And Ira, whose eyes lit up so brightly at the sight of the candy that John almost felt better.

But Mary's very pale face brought his cheer plummeting all over again.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

_It is a great act of cleverness to be able to conceal one's being clever._

_-Francois de La Rochefoucauld_

* * *

Lestrade had been hunting these men for almost six months. Six months of thefts, two murders, and several assaults had gotten this gang in deep trouble with the law. They only had rough sketches to go off of, sketches done by a mother that had lost her young daughter to these men during a break-in.

It was tragic, but Lestrade had studied the pictures and the descriptions like a hawk, always trying to be one step ahead of them. His purpose in going to see the doctor had not just been mere formality. The last burglary had been near to Watson's home, and he wanted to be sure Watson hadn't seen anything.

Watson had seemed all too desperate. At the invitation to come inside, Roy had gotten very nervous and Lestrade knew he matched the description of one of the it seemed though that Watson and his wife were being held hostage.

Lestrade had worked out the facts, but as he sat in his office working over a map he'd drawn of Watson's house, he still wasn't sure how best to get his friend and his wife out of there.

It was frustrating. And just frightening enough that Lestrade didn't hesitate to go knock on the door of one of his colleagues. One that he'd rather not work with.

Gregson opened the door and smiled though. "Well Lestrade, what pretty little problem can't you work your head around? The tall blonde inspector leaned casually against the door frame with a smug look on his face.

Lestrade bristled, but he knew Gregson was a friend of Watson's too.

"It's Watson, I fear he is in great danger."

At that, Gregson grew serious. "What do you mean?" He asked.

"I found him in the company of one of the four fugitives from that Notting Hill case." Lestrade said.

With unexpected force, Gregson drew Lestrade into his office and had him relate every last detail of what he had seen that afternoon. Lestrade had gone by a few times and watched from a good hiding spot to see what he could see.

"I definitely know there is more than one man there." Lestrade said. "There are a few others besides the doctor and Mary."

Gregson swore under his breath. "How do we get them out of there alive? We don't even know where they are being kept."

Lestrade pulled out his sketches of the floor plans. They were rough and difficult to work with, but better than nothing.  
"You realize if we interfere we are going to have to put them both at risk?" Gregson said with a sigh. "I don't know if we'd be better off to just call the men looking for them to stand down and let them make a run for it."

Lestrade thought about it. "I don't know. But can we really let them escape? They murdered a six year-old girl and another man taking a stroll at dusk."

Gregson looked away. "This is one of those moments I miss Holmes. He would have some sort of brilliant plan to get Watson out of this and capture the men."

Lestrade nodded his agreement. "And he always said that his ideas were so 'elementary'. Well, I certainly could use one of them now."

Gregson nodded his agreement. "Well, if we have nothing else for it, we can go in there guns blazing and try to scare them off."

Lestrade rapidly shook his head. "Mary's with child." He reminded the other inspector. Gregson winced. "So we have to get them out of the way somehow."

Lestrade nodded. "Maybe I can get Watson to signal us at some point. If we can somehow get a message to him…"

"It would have to be coded of course." Gregson said.

Lestrade nodded. Then he smiled deviously, pulled out a pen and paper, and scribbled a quick, concise note before passing it with a smug look to the other inspector.

'Watson, I would like to come take a cup of tea about one. If that works leave a light on for me, it's supposed to be cold. You know what the shepherds say about red sunsets. –Lestrade'

Gregson whistled. "Short and perfect. So simple they will overlook it."

"Besides, its wrong." Lestrade said with a grin.

Gregson narrowed his eyes, and then recalled the old weather adage. "Its red skies at night, shepherds delight." He corrected. "Wonderful Lestrade!"

Lestrade sent the other inspector a smile. "That has to be the kindest compliment you've ever given me."

"Don't get used to it. Just until we get Watson out." Gregson growled good-naturedly.

Regardless of the teasing, the pair were becoming united against a threat to a mutual friend.

* * *

Eugene knew he had a problem. Ira was getting a little too friendly with this couple. It wasn't right how they had filled his head with ideas. Ira wasn't useful for much, but as bait he would work rather nicely. When the time came it would be easy to dispose of Ira into whatever trap the authorities had put up while the rest of them could make their escape.

Ira was family, but Eugene understood that families sometimes had to sacrifice, even one of their own. Bert and Roy were valuable. They had skills that helped Eugene and he offered them his own skills to make a team. It was a compromise that Ira had nothing to offer to, but was gaining more than he should.

The boy was looking a little forlorn while John and Mary had some private time. Eugene wasn't going to deny them that. It was something special for them. At least it kept them occupied for a moment. He wasn't worried about them trying to run off either. After the threats he'd made to Mary, he was sure the thought of running away had been firmly shoved out of their heads. She had been quietly knitting and he had come behind her and told her just how painful he could make things for her before walking away, leaving her sobbing silently and trembling. She had regained her composure a bit before her husband had come home, but he knew every word he had uttered would be repeated. And he wanted it that way.

"Ira, commere." Eugene summoned the boy with a jerk of one grimy finger.

Ira came over like an obedient child, fiddling with his hands restlessly behind his back while he stood before his uncle who was seated in the chair.

"Ira, you know John and Mary are just messing with your mind." Eugene said solemnly. He knew it would be difficult to explain this to Ira, let alone to get him to believe it. Ira had called Mary 'mom' once too many times. Ira hadn't even had a mother since he was seven. It wasn't like he could remember her that well. Why he was bringing up that title again was confusing Eugene. He never wasted time missing the dead. He had to focus too much on keeping himself from joining them.

"My mind?" Ira asked, confused. Ira's black hair was getting to be one bushy mop that hung down over his eyes and he was constantly trying to brush it to one side, revealing his confused brown eyes. He was always confused and always stupid. It sometimes took more patience than Eugene thought he had to stop himself from killing Ira on the spot.

Eugene nodded. "They want you to think that you will be safe here." He said quietly.

"Why?" Ira rolled his head into his shoulder. It was a nervous habit of his that he'd had since Eugene could remember.

"Because they want to turn you in and collect the reward money. If you stay with them or help them then they will turn us all in and kill us." Eugene said.

"But they are nice – " Ira protested.

"No, Ira it's a game. They are playing a trick on you." Eugene fixed him with a cold stare. "I'm your uncle, would I lie to you?" Eugene remembered when he was younger and he and his brother would play hide and seek with their other siblings. How they would dart around the alley ways and run in the shadows to avoid getting seen. As they got older, you had to not only find your opponent, but also fight them for victory. It was what made them into tough men.

Ira seemed very torn, but in the end, Eugene knew he would win out. The boy had known him for a long time. And they were family. Even though Ira had long ago outgrown the cloths he used. He was unclean and unkept, he was family. And stupid enough to believe that Eugene really had his best intention at heart. Eugene had known ever since his brother had taken that bullet that had first led to Eugene losing every shred of mercy and civility in his heart that Ira was a scapegoat. Something to let go of when the time was right.

"But why would they do that?" Ira asked.

"They want the reward money." Eugene forced himself to be patient with the lad. He needed him to stay on his side. So for now, he remained pleasant.

He took one of Ira's hands. "I need you to trust me, and I need you to obey me without question okay Ira. I'll look after you."

And when Ira nodded and promised to do as Eugene said, the older man smiled. Ira was too blind to see the menacing look in his eyes though.


	6. Chapter 6

_Chapter 6_

_There is no one thoroughly despicable. We cannot descend much lower than an idiot; and an idiot has some advantages over a wise man._

_-William Hazlitt_

* * *

A boy brought the note about five, just before they finished making dinner. Ira had not been interested in helping Mary, so John did instead. As he opened the door, John was careful to remain cordial, but cautious. He didn't want the other men getting too jumpy. He took the note from the boy, offered him a coin for his trouble, and sent him off. He turned back inside, unfolding the small sheet of paper as he went.

"What is it?" Eugene demanded.

John read the note over, a bit puzzled by it. Somehow, it didn't seem as simple as a request to come for tea. "Just a note from a friend wanting to stop by tomorrow about one." John replied.

Eugene looked livid. "You can't of course."

"If I don't it'll be highly irregular and suspect. In fact, it'd be safer if all of you hid out upstairs and let him come." John replied.

"I'll think about it." Eugene growled from his seat in the armchair.

John studied the note in his hand for several minutes as he walked back into the kitchen. Lestrade was just not making much sense. He wanted to stop by at one, but assumed it would be cold because of a misquoted piece of weather lore? It didn't make any sense. It was a moment of profound confusion until Mary stole up behind him and read it over. Fortunately, the other men weren't around.

"Tonight?" She asked, her eyes merely scanning the page.

Then it dawned on the doctor. "That's it!" He hissed.

He tucked the letter into his pocket and for the rest of the evening, maintained a calm demeanor so as not to rouse suspicion. Dinner was quiet and peaceful, even though John still worried about the threats Eugene had made to Mary, but Roy seemed to be pleasant and even Bert, who was silent and obedient to Eugene, was treating everyone civilly. It was a bit of a change to see in everyone. Except Eugene. He remained cold as ice and hard as stone.

Ira seemed a bit distant too. John didn't know what to make of the silent lad that was sitting at the table, staring at his plate like he was about to cry.

"You feel alright darling?" Mary asked the lad. She reached over and brushed the hair out of his eyes.

Ira jerked back and then rolled his head. He didn't say anything in response to Mary's query though.

John sent a frosty glare at Eugene. Despite the fact he was being kind enough during the meal, his threats to Mary were not forgotten. Now John was sure he had said something to Ira as well. The poor boy was at war with himself and John didn't like it. "Go to bed Ira." Roy ordered him gently.

Ira rose and did as he was ordered. John didn't know if he should be grateful or worried. Roy was going to do whatever it took to save his own neck, he was certain of that. But what he would do to get Ira out of the picture was another matter entirely.

The rest of the meal was very quiet. Somehow that little exchange had laid bare the very real and pressing tension. Eugene was not comfortable anymore and John was at his patient's end. When their eyes met, they knew in their hearts this would be over soon.

John's comfort was the note in his pocket. Once they were to bed he planned to light a small candle in his bedroom window. He was scared, but also overjoyed that his friend had somehow discovered their plight.

John was just worried that something might go wrong. In order for him and Mary to get out they had to get by all the other men. It would take. A bit of a miracle to manage, but he was confident that Mary could at least get out. His own life meant little to him without her.  
The night finally came and John tarried in getting to bed, just to throw off any suspicion. With Ira in bed, Roy was sent up to sleep with him. Eugene and Bert stood guard.

John wished it was the other way around, but in the end he decided to stick to the plan. He lay down beside Mary, but he didn't sleep. He waited and occasionally checked his pocketwatch, the one he'd inherited from his brother just before meeting Mary. Time moved agonizingly slow. It was like waiting for his wedding day. That mixture of excitement and fear pulsing in him made his heart pound wildly.

Mary rolled over and ran her fingers down John's cheek. "You are worried." She observed.

John smiled. "Taking lessons from the stories again my dear?" He asked teasingly, referring to the tales of his adventures with Holmes.

Mary grinned and kissed him. "Of course. And your eyes give it away."

John narrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"

"Usually your eyes sparkle." Mary said. "And now they are dark."

"Its dark in the room." John said.

Mary shook her head. "It doesn't matter. Your eyes are still brighter when you aren't worried. I see that look when you are thinking about a patient or remembering Reichenbach. Otherwise, your eyes sort of sparkle."

John gazed at her lovingly. "I'm sorry love."

Mary grinned. "There, like that."

John gave her a confused glance and she planted another kiss on his cheek. "Your eyes sparkle when you talk to me."

John kissed her back. "Well I'm glad. I am happy right now, in your arms."

"Despite everything?" Mary asked. "Are you truly happy with me?"

John gave her a look of surprise. "Of course Mary, I love you, I can't wait for our child to be born so we can have a family together."

Mary looked away. "I just know you miss Holmes. Especially now."

"Mary, I miss him, but I would never wish to have him back instead of you." John said firmly. "I love you. You are the love of my life."

Mary smiled. "I'm glad I have you."

"I am glad I have you too." John whispered.

Neither of them slept as John stirred to go leave the candle in the window and they waited for the signal to act. John gave her clear instructions to get out and see to the baby first, no matter what happened.

John said a prayer, lit the candle, and waited anxiously.

* * *

Gregson and Lestrade were cold. The temperatures at night in London during the winter were not very kind, and they had been standing outside for almost a half-hour. They had tried pacing a bit, and then gotten out their supplies of brandy and sipped at them. They finally resorted to huddling close together and rocking on their feet to try to stay warm

"Perhaps he didn't understand." Gregson said sadly after a long while. He coughed and patted his hands together to try to keep them from getting too stiff. It was hard though, and he ran his hands down his legs too, hoping they would either get a signal or call it a night soon.

"Maybe not. Well, in the least nothing is lost by it. I can still come tomorrow and learn what I can." Lestrade felt defeated. He was trying to be clever and had been too clever. He wished there was something more they could do. They might not be able to get the Watson's out alive if something wasn't done soon. They had probably been there for two days. Lestrade worried how the doctor was actually holding up under the stress of it all. He feared for Mary, with their unborn child. It grieved him to think that it was out of his power to do anything.

He turned away, disheartened at the failure, when suddenly Gregson put a hand on his shoulder. "Lestrade, look." He said, his eyes still fixed on the window.

Lestrade turned around to see a candle being gently placed in the window of the second floor. It was a small flame, but enough to illuminate the stony face of his friend. He was alive. He looked weary and was probably in dire need of a good night's sleep. Lestrade intended to see them both to safety and keep them in bed resting for a few days afterwards. He was certain he knew a good landlady that would come see to them for a few days. He would even compensate her for her trouble.

"So he did get the message." Lestrade breathed. "Thank heaven…"

"Right, lets signal the others." Gregson said, always the first to leap into action. Taking out a mirror that he reflected a couple times. They had men lining the alleyways a couple houses down and they went in a massive circle around the back of the house. It was surrounded, but they would still have trouble getting in.

They broke up into two groups and Gregson went around back to lead the assault from there while Lestrade stayed in the front. Gregson brought his men around him and looked at them all sternly. "Now I know you all know the doctor. Do no put him or his wife in any danger. At all costs get them out safely." He ordered. He didn't know that any of them would put their life on the line, but he was prepared to. The doctor had undergone enough sorrow as of late. It was time that fortune smiled on him.

There was a moment's pause and then two doors were kicked in and pandemonium broke out.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

_ You think I am a fool, but you are a greater fool than I am._

_-Sitting Bull_

* * *

John heard a loud bang and suddenly all the panic he was feeling disappeared. The soldier in him was awakened. Long buried instincts brought him to attention. "Mary hide in the closet." He ordered.

She did as he asked, not questioning her husband now that the time had come. She planted a kiss on his lips and then silently went into the little room, stowing herself towards the back and remaining still.

The first gunshots echoed through the house and there was a scream of pain. His doctor heart ached, but his mind was still on the battle. He rapidly began to think of a plan and grabbed his cane. Not an effective weapon against bullets, but he recalled the lessons in bartitsu* that Holmes had given him on occasion. It would at least help him get through the chaos he could hear downstairs.

Leaving the room with a whispered order for Mary to stay still, he hugged the shadows as he went towards the stairs where he could hear a loud struggle and more gunshots. One hit the wall opposite him and he jumped a little.

Then he saw something move. In a moment he found himself facing the barrel of a gun.

He didn't even think. He grabbed the gun and jerked it to one side and it fired, but hit the wall harmlessly. He punched out at the face, trying to ascertain who it was.

"Oh no you don't!" His opponent growled. It was Roy. John could tell by his voice. Roy ducked and punched him hard, right where his injury was bothering him, and John crumbled. It was a dirty blow, but John knew Roy was desperate to save his own skin. Rough hands seized John and again held the gun at him. This time, John didn't struggle. He had no way of defending himself from this position.

"You're coming with me." He said, hauling John to his feet and shoving him towards the stairs with his gun firmly to the doctor's temple.

* * *

He took a kick to the gut when he first entered the house. Lestrade doubled over in surprise and pain and let out a groan. As the two men following him came inside one of them was immediately shot down with a ragged cry. Only Lestrade bending had stopped him from being the one now lying cold and lifeless on the front stair.

In anger he held one fist in his other hand and used them to smash into his opponent's ribs with an angry cry. He was so angry. Angry for the doctor and the undue suffering, angry for the lives lost because of these men, angry that he hadn't caught them sooner.

The other man was thrown off balance a little, but regained it and the two stood circling each other. Within moments they rushed at one another. Lestrade was the smaller of the two by far, and he lunged at the other mans legs to try to bring him down. It worked well, but as Lestrade turned to try to pin him, he took a blow to the face that knocked him to the ground.

Lestrade felt the strong hands grasping his throat with murderous intent as he struggled to loosen his opponent's grip. He began to see stars thought and it wouldn't be long before he lost consciousness entirely. He tried kicking and striking the man's arms, but it wasn't working.

Suddenly, the man gave a startled cry. The next thing Lestrade could see was Gregson standing over the man that was on the floor, presumably put there by a punch. "Kerry come help me!" He ordered one of his men to assist as he pinned Lestrade's attacker and began to handcuff him.

"Thanks." Lestrade rasped as he rubbed his sore throat.  
"No problem." Gregson said, sending him a warm smile. Lestrade saw the two other constables subduing Eugene and he began to make for the stairs to see about John and Mary. But he never climbed the stairs.

* * *

John had no choice but to allow himself to be ushered onto the staircase. They went down to the landing where everyone had a chance to see.

"Stop!" Roy called, somehow getting attention over the din.

The officers stopped, and John caught sight of Lestrade and Gregson paling. John was surprised to see them both together, working like friends to help him and his wife. He would be sure to recommend them for every possible promotion and honor for this, as well as thank them deeply. Even if he didn't get out, he knew Mary would do the same.

The inspectors gave a signal and the struggles stopped, even though Eugene was in a headlock and Bert was pinned by Gregson and one of the constables. Ira wasn't in sight in the little hallway crammed with officers. John wondered briefly where the boy was. He hoped he had not been injured in the crossfire.

"Now, once I'm clear of here, I don't care what happens." Roy growled. "But until I'm to the door I will not let him go."

"Traitor!" Eugene shouted angrily, struggling with the officer that held him.

"I'm not the one that planned all this. You even planned to leave your own nephew to Scotland Yard. I'm not going to wait around to become expendable." Roy replied boldly. He ordered John down the stairs and he obediently went. The gun never let his head though as they made their way through the crowd that silently parted to let them by.

A part of John sort of hoped that Roy would escape. Possibly even make it to America and restart his life. Find happiness and peace. He was a good man at heart, even if he was allowing himself to fall into crime.

John was oddly calm, even though he was facing his possible death. He simply let himself be led to the door a step at a time. He saw a body of a constable laying on the step and he wished he could help the man, but it was clear that the bullet lodged in his neck had been lethal.

John just hoped that was the only victim.

* * *

Mary heard the uproar from below cease and she timidly peeked out of the closet door. She saw no one and she moved silently to the bedroom door that her husband had left just slightly cracked open.

Something had happened. Wondering if the battle was won, she excitedly hurried out of the room and towards the staircase. She headed down to the landing.

And right into Ira. He had come out behind Roy and now stood staring at her with a gun trained on her.

"Ira kill her!" Eugene called, seeing what everyone else hadn't yet noticed. Most of the men had their eyes trained on Roy.

Now all of them were looking up at the boy holding a gun to the woman.

"No! Ira please!" John begged. Even Roy didn't deny him that privilege. Roy took advantage of the distraction and fled. No one chased him.

"My uncle say you gonna turn us in. He was right." Ira said to Mary, his speech slightly slurred.

"Ira no, I didn't bring them here. They only came to see if John and I were safe." Mary protested, trying to reason with him. There was a note of fear in her voice though.

"They gonna kill me…" Ira said.

"No, Ira they won't. You have to trust me. Please, drop the gun." John said. Ira looked at him, but didn't move the gun.

"The boss said you were playing games with me." Ira said, rolling his head.

"Ira they are! Don't listen to him!" Eugene said, struggling.

"Now Ira come now, you don't want to be doing that… just drop your weapon and this can be over with. You won't die." Lestrade said, attempting to climb the stairs and take the weapon.

Ira cocked it and Lestrade stopped. Ira was panting like he didn't know what to do.

"Ira your uncle was going to kill you." John informed him. "He doesn't care about you!"

Ira looked at Eugene, who shoo his head. "Like I said, they are playing games with your mind boy. They want you to trust them so they can hurt you."

Ira stuttered, looking like he was in a frantic panic. His mind was wrestling with two wills and he couldn't take it much longer.

"Ira, remember when John helped your leg? And how I taught you to cook? We helped you." Mary said, her voice full of fear and tears. John knew she was terrified for herself and the baby, and wanted to comfort her. He was terrified too.

"Ira if you must kill someone kill me, I brought them here!" John said, lunging forward and pushing everyone else back. He hoped it would give Mary time at least. Even if he had to die he just wanted to know Mary would be okay.

"No John - !" Mary took one step towards him and that was it.

There was a loud bang as Ira's gun fired off and Mary's step turned into a fall. Blood splattered against the staircase of the once peaceful home. There was a collective gasp, but John only saw her. Only felt her as he caught her and gently turned her over, seeking out the wound and praying it could be fixed.

The wound was in the side of her head, and it poured blood all over him. She gave a few shudders and then was still. Her delicate face still held the twisted expression of mixed fear and horror and her blue eyes were wide still as the final life left her body. Her hair was down and soaking up the blood spilling from the wound, dying the once bright blonde locks a deep crimson. Her hand had taken John's at some point during her fall and it now clutched it even as she went cold and stiff. Her body was at an awkward and uncomfortable angle, but she would feel no more pain.

He crumbled to the ground. He couldn't even say goodbye. The soldier was gone with a gasping wail.

* * *

A/N: Oh gosh that was... whew *shudder* sorry about that!

*Bartitsu is the correct spelling of baritsu, learned that after a bit of research.


	8. Chapter 8

_Chapter Eight_

_If we could read the secret history of our enemies we should find in each man's life sorrow and suffering enough to disarm all hostility._

_-Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_

* * *

Watson had finally broken down into tears. It was understandably painful to relate such a haunting tale. Holmes was thoroughly shocked to hear it. He had a million questions, but he didn't press Watson for them. Instead he gently brought his friend a cup of brandy from downstairs, pressed him to lie down, and sat calmly nearby.

Watson fell into a sleep of sorts, but it was fair from peaceful. When he'd start to whimper or fidget or moan, Holmes would gently rub his back or speak soothingly to him. It was like he was trying to prevent the nightmares from even coming. It was long work, something he didn't like to do, but now he wanted to.

It was about nine in the morning when Watson finally drifted into a peaceful sleep. With Mrs. Hudson awake, Holmes felt it would be all right to take his leave of 221B for just a short while. He didn't bother changing, since he didn't want to delay any. After being forced to have a small bite of breakfast Holmes dashed out and headed for the familiar building that housed Scotland Yards multitude of offices, officers, and other things he typically had no need for.

But today one of them had answers he needed. Needed desperately. Answers he dare not pull from his friend's tired and overwhelmed mind.

He headed down the row of offices without anyone really stopping him. Anyone of any import knew who he was and as such they knew he wouldn't be here unless he had business here. They had stopped trying to stop him mid-stride long ago. It just didn't turn out very pleasant for him or the workers or the inspectors.

He finally reached the office he had been looking for and to his surprise found Lestrade and Gregson both in the office seated side-by-side behind Lestrade's large desk. Gregson's eyes darkened at Holmes and immediately the amateur detective realized what had started as a partnership to save Watson had blossomed into a friendship. And Gregson was clearly up-to-date on the previous night's fight and didn't look happy to see Holmes.

"Is Watson all right?" Lestrade asked, getting to the only matter he would really care to see Holmes about.

"He's resting. He… he told me about being held hostage." Holmes said. For the first time, he was a little nervous about speaking to them. For once, they held the cards he desperately needed. And not for a case, for something far more dear to him. When it had become so much more important was unknown. Perhaps not having Watson by his side had made him realize he couldn't take the man for granted anymore.

"He did?" Gregson asked with some surprise in his deep voice.

Holmes only nodded glumly.

"Well, maybe now you understand the sorrow he's been through?" Lestrade asked.

"He didn't finish. He told about Mary getting shot but nothing after that." Holmes hinted.

"And you think you can just come in here and have every last detail out of us?" Gregson asked challengingly.

Holmes realized these men were not going to accept him back as easily as Watson did. In some ways, he was grateful to the, but he would not allow them to hide things from him that concerned Watson.

"I know you helped him, but I want to help him to and if he started the story he would finish it if I asked, but I'd rather avoid that. I just want to hear the outcome of things." His voice was stern as he spoke.

Gregson and Lestrade exchanged a glance.  
"Well, it really isn't as simple as that Holmes." Lestrade said. "This isn't one of your cases. This isn't a neatly solved little puzzle brought to completion. You have that luxury in your line of work to accept what problems you like and ignore what you don't want to be bothered with. But Gregson and I… well, we didn't have a choice. Watson didn't either. And this case was by far the most terrible I've ever had the misfortune of closing."

"Me too." Gregson echoed.

Holmes frowned. "But what happened?" He asked.

They exchanged a look before Lestrade picked up the tale. "I of course arrested all three of them on the spot. They were guilty of murders and all sorts of other crimes, and I knew they would all be sentenced guilty. Gregson kindly saw to the body of the constable we lost. He left behind two children, a wife, and a mother. His funeral was the same day as Mary's."

Lestrade remembered that day so well. He had gone to both because of the time difference, but it was at Mary's that he was on duty. He had appointed himself Watson's official sentinel until the man came out of this.

* * *

_Flashback._

_I felt the first few raindrops hit my face as I exited the carriage first. I turned to assist Watson and helped him to the ground as we made our way over to the graveside. I adjusted his scarf a little, trying to keep him warm. He was barely responsive at all. I knew he was broken, but I kept willing him to survive. I pulled out my umbrella and kept it shielding him. I didn't care how drenched I got so long as he was dry._

_We made our way over slowly, but the crowd that had formed parted to let him through so he was at the front. Gregson shielded him on one side with me mostly behind him on the other side. Safely tucked between us, Watson paused at the hole._

_Watson stood, weeping openly in front of the coffin that was being lowered slowly into the ground. The thump it made as it settled into the hole echoed and brought on a fresh wave of tears._

_The minister was saying something, I think it might have had to do with how God would bring us peace, but I wasn't paying any attention to that. I was firmly convinced Watson might never recover from this, and was fighting to keep some life in him._

_Which is why my eyes were firmly fixed on him. Why I was able to note his collapse and catch him before anyone else had realized what was happening. I held him firmly in my arms as he sobbed long and hard. Gregson and I stayed behind with him long after everyone else had gone. When he was finally able to stand, we had to support him most of the way._

_I wouldn't leave him alone for a long time after that. Through some arrangements and the kind donations of the elder Mr. Holmes I kept a doctor or friend by Watson through the next few days. I often went by as well, and it was to my great surprise that he eventually did start to come around._

_It didn't really begin to change though until the day of the trial._

_I had told him I'd be gone for most of the afternoon, but I hadn't told him why. One by one they subjects were told the charges and asked to plead. All but Roy, who had escaped despite my best efforts and the efforts of other officials notified across the continent. The best I knew, he was on to America._

_When I was called to testify I related the murders: two previously, then the constable and Mrs. Watson. When I mentioned the fact she was pregnant with an unborn child – a girl as the mortician had discovered – I heard an audible gasp in the room. _  
_ Ira, on the stands, seemed at a loss. "She was gonna kill me…" He said, still confused by his uncle's twisted logic._

_"She was unarmed and defenseless and you murdered her in cold blood." I retorted, looking at him._

_"No." The voice brought my attention to the back of the room. I stared in dumbfounded amazement as Dr. Watson began to make his way down the aisle._

_"Who are you sir?" The judge asked curtly in a nasal tone._

_"My name is Doctor John Watson. I am the late husband of Mary Watson, whom this boy shot on February the first, eighteen ninety-two." Watson said, striding forward with slow, difficult steps._

_There was a collective gasp in the room._

_The judge sat back, seeming shocked. "I was not aware you were coming to give testimony for this case."_

_"I had not said so."_

_"Well what is it that you want to say? Come up, come up!"_

_Eager to get Watson on the stand I was hurried down. Perhaps he thought that Watson breaking down and crying might add a bit of sensation and excitement to the very dark case. Whatever his motives, it was clear Watson didn't meet his expectations._

_"Sir, Ira did not murder my wife in cold blood. I deem him to be mentally unfit to be responsible for his own actions. As a doctor I declare him mentally insane and he should be removed to a facility to care for his needs." Watson said._

_I gaped. Watson had just saved the boy's life. Ira would've very likely hanged for murdering Mary, but Watson had just thrown him away from the scaffold and offered him a decent life. Something Ira didn't know and certainly, in my opinion, didn't deserve."_

_The judge looked over at Ira. "What do you have to say?" He asked._

_Ira just rolled his head and shook his head, confused._

_"What about these other men Dr. Watson?" The judge asked him._

_Dr. Watson looked hard at Bert and Eugene, and then just shook his head. "They are medically sound enough to make their own decisions and answer to the law as you decide." He replied._

_I stared at him in complete shock, but went around to assist him as he was dismissed. I helped him to a seat that was quickly offered to him by some gentleman in the first row._

_"Well, in light of this new evidence, I order that Ira Donaldson be taken to an institution at once. Eugene Donaldson and Bert Hill are both sentenced to death." The judge said, banging his gavel on the desk to dismiss us._

_I turned to Watson. "Why?" I asked, having to have an answer. Gregson had also come over and was looking at Watson with the same amount of curiosity._

_"Gentlemen I just lost my wife and daughter. I know though, somehow, that Mary would not have wanted him to die. She cared about him a good deal. It was the last thing I could do for her to see him safely away to someplace better for him."_

_End Flashback_

* * *

Lestrade snapped out of it when Gregson put a hand on his shoulder. He sighed. "Watson saved the boy's life. Ira is now settled in a quiet place. Watson knows where it is, but to my knowledge he never visits. Eugene and Bert were executed about six months after their sentence was handed down. Roy…" Lestrade ground his teeth. "Has never been found, though the best of our intelligence points to him jumping a ship to America like he told Dr. Watson he would."

Holmes swallowed, his mind trying to work out the mystery of his friend. Watson had been hurt so badly by someone he had offered to help. Then to turn around and save him anyway was something Holmes couldn't easily wrap his head around. He heard of heroes, but to know that one so large was his friend meant a good deal to him.

"Thank you gentlemen." He rose and turned to leave. "I am sorry for the intrusion. Lestrade, I have indeed learned a valuable lesson. I will not take my friendship with him so lightly, and I will not neglect my duty to him as such." He promised.


	9. Chapter 9

_Chapter Nine_

_We should feel sorrow, but not sink under its oppression._

_-Confucius_

* * *

"That's all I ask Holmes." Lestrade said, his eyes distant though. "Its really my fault anyway for Moriarty slipping the net."

Holmes turned back to him in shock. "No, Lestrade no!" He at once had returned to the desk and leaned over it to face Lestrade. "You saved Watson's life. You have helped him more than I ever knew and I owe you… both," he turned his eyes to Gregson as well, "a greater debt of gratitude than I could ever pay. I was the one who stayed away I take the blame for my own mistakes. But you two have done a wonderful job. You both have outdone me." Holmes even surprised himself.

Lestrade and Gregson looked at Holmes with stares of astonishment. He had never spoken so highly of them and they never expected to hear it again.

"Now if you don't mind, I have some forgiveness I need to ask of Watson too." Holmes said, turning to leave.

"Holmes." Lestrade said, rising from his desk. Holmes looked back and Lestrade offered him a hand. "I'm glad to know you." He said. It was hard to say after so much bitterness, but he let that melt away.

Gregson joined him in offering his hand.

Holmes smiled. "Yes, good to know you too." He said before turning and dashing away.

Untaken, Lestrade's hand dropped to his side and he looked at Gregson. "He'll never change."

"I don't know Lestrade, maybe he is. But we're still working for Scotland Yard remember?" Gregson said.

Lestrade snorted. "Right, hated by the bad and annoying to the good…"

"But loved by the ladies!" Gregson said, holding up his tea in a toast.

Lestrade clicked his own drink against it with a laugh. "Right!"

Holmes headed home hurriedly. His meeting with them had taken longer than expected. He soon reached his own front door and began throwing his coat, shoes, and other unneeded items in a messy array before darting up the stairs. He came into the sitting room and found Watson eating breakfast at the table.

"There you are." Watson said, looking curious and yet a bit betrayed.

"I'm sorry dear fellow." Holmes said softly. "I meant to be back sooner."

"No it is no bother, do you have a case?" Watson asked.

Holmes looked at him. He expected such. He expected Holmes would selfishly dash off on self-interests even after a night like that. Holmes immediately put this thought to death.

"No, I am not taking them up at present." Holmes replied.  
Watson gave him a curious look. "What?"

"I plan to spend the day here with you." Holmes replied, beginning to gather food onto his fork.

Watson looked at him. "If you want the rest of the story – "

"No need dear fellow, I have already heard what I need to know." Holmes quickly interjected. "And I mended things with Lestrade this morning."

Watson stared at him in wonder and dropped his fork. "You… you did?" He asked, completely taken aback.  
"Yes, I was grateful for what he did for you in my absence. Why you have forgiven me for that is really a mystery."

Watson grew silent for a moment and Holmes began to fear he hadn't been forgiven. Had Watson hidden his anger so well? Holmes looked away. "I deserve your anger – "

"No, Holmes, you hurt me. I was deeply affected by the loss, but then I really think that you had no idea that I would be and acted according to what you thought was best."

"But I'm not incapable of learning from that mistake." Holmes quickly said. "And I regret hurting you at all."

Watson looked at him with a smile. "Well, I am glad to hear that. I am not mad at you. I am merely stunned you straightened things out with Lestrade as well."

Holmes shrugged. "We came to an understanding, he and I. Mutual interests."

Watson raised an eyebrow. "Should I be concerned?"

Holmes smiled and took a bite of his food, chewing and swallowing slowing before taking a sip of tea.

"Holmes…" Watson's tone was warning. "Whatever you two are planning I want in on it…"

Holmes merely grinned some more and took another bite.  
"Fine, don't tell me what you're up to." Watson said, scowling with mock anger and taking another bite.

"How did you sleep?" Holmes asked, changing the subject.

Watson made a face. "Alright, how about you?"

Holmes made a face suddenly as he tried to formulate an answer.

"You didn't!" Watson knew what that face meant.

Holmes cringed.  
"Holmes you were up all night? Whatever did you and Lestrade have to sort out that took all night?"

"Actually, I was with you." Holmes admitted softly. "You slept very fitfully and I tried to soothe you the best I could."

Watson stared at him, dumbfounded for a moment. "Oh… well thank you… but you need to sleep." He ordered.

Holmes sulked for a moment and Watson gave him a look. "Don't make me call Lestrade to come help me bully you." He threatened.

Holmes looked at his friend in mock horror. "I can't believe you would ever dare to suggest a thing like that!"

Watson grinned. "So you'll go without a fight?"

Holmes knew he was defeated. Lestrade would never let him forget it and Holmes didn't really want the whole of Scotland Yard knowing he'd been bullied into sleep by _anyone_. "Oh very well." He grumbled.

"Good, but eat first." Watson said. They lapsed into silence as each finished his meal.

"Watson?" Holmes' voice was questioning.

"Yes?" Watson replied.

"Where is… where is the spot…?" Holmes didn't know how to form the question.

Watson looked up at him, curious as to why his seemingly emotionless friend would want the location of his wife's grave. "Her grave Holmes? You can say it, I'm not going to burst into some emotional scene." He soothed. He knew Holmes hated them. He would tolerate them when they came, but didn't enjoy it.

"Yes." Holmes said, glad Watson has said it.

"After you nap I'll show you alright?" Watson said. "I haven't been there in awhile anyway.

* * *

So later that afternoon they headed out in a hansom to the cemetery. Holmes followed behind Watson as they skirted around other resting places until they reached the marker Watson sat down beside.

Taking a seat on the opposite side, Holmes looked at the engraved words. "Mary Watson 1861-1892." Beneath that line there was another, smaller one. "Clara Watson 1892."

Watson bit his lip and looked down, a heavy sigh escaped from him. Holmes almost feared another emotional scene, but then he knew that Watson couldn't always bury them.

Watson fought it though.

"It's alright, my dear Watson." Holmes said, reaching over to put a hand on Watson's shoulder. "You needn't be brave for me." He said softly.

Watson finally let the tears come. It felt good. And for once, he felt truly able to say goodbye to her and know that he could survive without her. It wouldn't be easy, and he knew that there would still be days of long sorrow, but somehow he knew she would want him to go on to be happy. She had been happy with him, and she wouldn't want him to live his life clouded by sadness.

All that became clearer then it had in a long time.

And then Holmes jolted and looked back, the hand that had been resting on Watson's shoulder loosing contact as he turned to look behind them.

Watson looked too to see Gregson and Lestrade standing there.

The apologies between them had already been heard, and there was little left any of them could say, but they sat together for a long while by Mary's grave. The sun began to break through the clouds, bathing them in warm golden light.

Things were going to get better.


	10. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

It was two weeks later when there was a sudden knock on our door. I grinned and hoped it would be someone with a puzzle to banish my boredom. However, when Mrs. Hudson came up the stairs, she did not look at me.

"There's a man here to see you doctor." She announced.

Watson narrowed his eyes and looked back at her as he folded the newspaper he had been reading. "Won't he come up?" He asked.

"No, he said he merely needs a word with you." Mrs. Hudson answered. "Seems awfully strange to me."

"Thank you Mrs. Hudson." Watson said, rising stiffly and heading to the door.

For a moment, I returned to my own reading, but then it began to irk me. Who was his visitor? Would he want me to go down or would it be rude for me to seek answers? Was he all right? The questions ate at me as I sat there, my fingers tapping impatiently. I rose and immediately went to the window, peering down to see Watson talking to someone on the sidewalk. I did not recognize the visitor at all, but Watson seemed to know him rather well, and shook his hand as he left.

Finally I heard him mounting the stairs and I flew back into my seat, but pretended to be reading diligently. He came in a moment, sighed, closed the door, and then stood there for a moment.

I finally looked up to realize he was scrutinizing me with his knowing eyes. I shifted under that gaze, knowing it was my own fault for training him so well.  
"Holmes, you were looking at the other page." Watson said, smirking a bit.

I set him a look and turned the page. "I went back." I defended.

"No, you got up and just reopened your paper. You were spying." Watson said.

I knew he had always been clever enough to eventually begin to do some deducting on his own, but I was surprised to find my talent turned against me by my pupil.

"Who was he Watson?" I didn't bother to argue or to hide my espionage.

"That, Holmes, was Roy." Watson said.

I sat up in my chair, eyes wide with alarm. "The one that…" I trailed off, not sure how to ask my query tactfully.

"Yes, Holmes, the one involved in Mary's death." Watson told me, reading my mind.

"You aren't going to reveal him?" I asked incredulously.

Watson shook his head and again picked up his own reading. "No, Holmes, I am not."

I regarded him with a look of surprise and confusion, but finally I let the matter go. Shaking my head a little, I returned my own thoughts to my paper, letting the matter go.


End file.
